Lois Greiman (26 page)

“But you were wed.”

“Aye. To a man who could not…” She paused. He waited. “Could not do what you do.” She said the words breathlessly from those damp plump lips. He hoped he wouldn’t faint.

“And you didn’t…miss it?” he asked.

She swallowed and glanced down. “We were not the demonstrative sort.”

“We?”

“My family. My parents.” She shrugged and looked up again, and in her face was an expression of awe, as if she’d discovered something so wondrous she could not yet fathom the truth. “We did not touch.”

“What?”

“In any way. Not as punishment. Not as affection. Nor was I allowed to be touched by others. I was—”

He realized he was holding his breath.

“I was their little princess,” she said. “Set above. Set aside.”

“There must have been a slew of men trying to breech the fortress once they had seen you.”

Her brows dipped momentarily. Then she raised her eyes and smiled slightly. It made his heart hurt, but he remembered the lies with a hard effort. “Do you find me alluring, MacTavish?”

He considered lying, or at least not telling the truth, which was entirely different in his own way of thinking. But there seemed little purpose. “A sand snail would find you alluring, princess, and you know ’tis true.”

“No one said as much. Mother was…” She shook her head as if thinking back. “Some said she was the most beautiful woman in all of Europe. Perhaps in comparison I paled to—”

“It doesn’t matter who you’re compared to.”

She stared at him for a moment, then leaned forward and kissed his lips.

Desire struck him again, but it was deeper now, slower, still burning, but it was not the hot flash of fire like before. Now it burned hot and red, like stoked embers.

“Are you saying you didn’t know you were beautiful?”

“A person’s physical appearance…” She shrugged. “Outer beauty oft hides a host of inner ugliness.”

“Then why not choose an ugly man?”

“Are you assuming you are not ugly, MacTavish?” He didn’t answer, and she laughed. “Truth to tell, I had no desire for a man at all, MacTavish.”

“Forgive me for finding that hard to believe,” he said. “Since I have scratches from me shoulders to me arse.”

She cleared her throat and glanced away. It was the first time he’d ever seen her blush. And that couldn’t be faked. Could it?

“I was ignorant.”

He watched her. She glanced toward him and away again. She was strangely shy, for a nymphomaniac. Not that he had any sort of aversion to nymphomaniacs.

“I didn’t know…” She paused, pursed her ungodly lips and tilted her head as if defying the world. “It was really quite pleasant.”

He flexed his shoulders, feeling the scratches burn his skin. “Pleasant?”

“In truth…” She flitted her eyes down and up. “I would try it again if you are agreeable.”

She stepped forward, and he retreated though he would not have thought he had the strength.

She gave him a questioning glance. He scowled in return and kept his hands carefully to himself.

“I don’t make it a practice to deflower virgins.”

“I am quite happy to hear it, MacTavish, but since the deflowering is already done…” She shrugged and stepped toward him.

He caught her wrist. “I will have the truth. Who are you? Some sorceress trained to seduce? A spy sent to defeat me?”

Her expression sobered. “If I am a spy, I am a spy for you,” she said.

His emotions were roiling like storm clouds. “Tell me, lass,” he growled. “Why are you here?”

For a moment, the sharp-edged lady of fortune stared up at him, but in an instant she softened and raised her hand to his cheek. Her palm felt soft against his face. “I am here for this,” she whispered, and slipped her hand down his chest and onto his abdomen.

Sensations burned like magic. A thousand errant emotions screamed for attention, but he tightened his grip on her wrist.

“Nay,” he said, and Hoary whined like a starved hound. “Not again. Not until I know the truth.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he knew it was a lie even before she spoke. So he backed away, snatched up his clothes, and fled.

“Y
ou’ve returned.” Burroun’s voice rumbled as he entered the darkened throne room. The chamber contained very little; a few hanging tapestries depicting gloriously bloody battles, a carefully woven floor carpet, and a throne. Cairn hated this room.

He poured himself a mug of beer from a pitcher he kept on the oaken arm of the throne. The pitcher was made of silver. The mug was crafted of gold-encrusted ivory. He emptied it in one chug and filled it again.

Burr eyed him quizzically. “I see your mood has improved.”

Cairn gave him a dark look. He had left the castle three days since to find answers and his wits. But he had waited too long to inquire about the ship called the Melody. In fact, the good captain had already sailed for France. Upon questioning the man’s first mate, who had remained behind, he had learned that a young woman named Mrs. Mulgrave had indeed traveled on their ship. She had been accompanied by a largish man with limited intelligence, and she had come from Sedonia.

Cairn scowled. Aye, some of her story seemed to be true, but she had not said she was traveling from Sedonia. He raised his gaze to Burr’s. “You’ve been giving her lessons in defense?” He had given up the task, for it was all too obvious that he could not touch her without bedding her.

The Norseman looked less than pleased. “Of course. My laird has deemed it necessary to train his prisoners in the art of self-defense. So I train them. Who am I to think it strange?”

Cairn filled his mug again. “Quit your whining, Burr. You make a poor fishwife.”

“And you make a poor laird when you’re mooning over the maid like a smitten harp seal.”

A number of possible responses presented themselves to Cairn, but he had learned long ago that it was best not to get into a pissing contest with someone of Burr’s phenomenal size. The man could flood the room before Cairn had opened his pantaloons, but it was late, he was tired, and not in the best of moods, as Burr had rather sarcastically suggested.

“Better a harp seal mooning over a maid than a whale moping over a child,” he said, and quaffed the beer again.

Burr stiffened. “What are you trying to say, laddie?”

He shrugged, loosening his muscles. “Gem,” he said and rolled one shoulder back, easing the tension there. “Couldn’t you find a doxy old enough for solid foods?”

“You think her a doxy?” Burroun said the words quietly. Cairn smiled at the lack of tone.

“Maybe the two of you are spending your time in intellectual pursuits,” he suggested.

“Leave the lass out of this,” Burr suggested quietly. “’Tis none of your concern.”

“I’m the laird of the isle,” Cairn said, and drank again. “Everything is my concern. Did you forget?”

“That you’re the laird or that you’re an ass?”

He made a sort of salute in Burr’s direction with his mug. “Have you bedded her yet?”

The muscles in the Norseman’s neck tightened, but he remained where he was. “I’d be tempted to beat you senseless, lad, but I see you’ve already achieved that state.”

“They say it’s best to teach them young.”

The giant took a step forward. “Do you think your position will keep you from a thrashing?”

“Nay,” Cairn said, and grinned. The devil churned in his belly. “I think your age will.”

“’Tis too bad I didn’t train your haughty lass the sooner,” Burr said. “So she could have beaten some sense into you.”

“Aye, but you’ve been too busy training young Gem, aye.”

In retrospect, he realized he should have been better prepared. After all, one does not provoke a sleeping bear without expecting some repercussions. But he was half-drunk, and his thoughts were divided. And perhaps, even after all their years together, Cairn had believed his position would protect him from his best friend’s tutelage. He was wrong, though not disappointed, and true to Burr’s unpredictability, it was a bootheel and not a fist that caught Cairn in the shoulder. He spun off the throne like a top, tumbled off the raised platform, and struck the wall at an oblique angle. A candelabra crashed onto the floor, spewing hot wax in its wake.

The door flew open, and Peters leapt in.

“Get out!” they roared in unison.

Peters glanced from one to the other, nodded wide-eyed, and backed out, closing the door behind him.

Cairn returned his attention to his opponent. “Too weak to throw a decent punch, Burr?” he asked.

“Too proud to waste one on the likes of some pampered fool who doesn’t know how to speak of his betters.”

“Betters?” Cairn raised his brows and his fists in unison. But the truth was, he rarely used his fists. He’d learned to
brawl from the dregs of society, and that meant using whatever lay at hand. Unfortunately, there was little in the way of ammunition in the throne room. The throne itself came to mind. “Do you think yourself my better, Burr?”

“Actually…” The old man moved like a castrato, light as a fighting cock on his feet. It would have been disconcerting had Cairn been sober. “I was talking about Gem.”

“The thief?” He circled the giant, honestly surprised. He knew the man had formed a fondness for the girl, but perhaps it was deeper than he’d realized. He grinned. How amusing would it be if he were falling in love?

“Since when have you been one to look down on a bit of thievery?” Burr asked, and, moving in like a serpent, struck with the heel of his hand. Cairn leapt back, just avoiding contact and managing, by naught but pure luck, to land a brushing blow to his opponent’s left cheek.

Burr nodded his admiration and circled lightly. “Perhaps your haughty lass has taught you a thing or two, aye?” Darting in, he planted a quick jab in Cairn’s belly. It felt something like a volcanic explosion, but MacTavish managed to stay on his feet and stumble out of reach before he found himself dead. Burr grinned. “But then, she would be the one to do it, wouldn’t she? What with a face like that, she’s probably taught a good many men a host of lessons not soon to be—”

Cairn struck him square in the nose. Blood sprayed into the air, squirting like a geyser onto Cairn’s loose-fitting tunic. The pattern of red on white distracted him for a moment, and in that second Burr darted in and landed twin punches to his gut.

Cairn refused to bend to the pain. Instead, he gritted his teeth into a smile and wondered if he would survive this archaic pleasure.

“You’re out of your depth here, lad,” Burroun said. “Why not admit it?”

Cairn laughed out loud, welcoming the challenge. “The day I can’t best you, Norseman, is the day I happily lie down and die.”

“And not a moment too soon,” said Burr. “But I was saying you’re out of depth with the haughty trollop.”

Cairn charged. Like a callow youth, he lowered his head and ran at the mountain called Burroun. No one was more surprised than he when the other actually went down. Cairn stumbled back, trying to catch his balance, then fell like a downed tower atop him.

“Damn—” Cairn began, but in that instant, Burr bucked, tossing the other well over his head. He landed in a heap and rolled painfully to his side. Burroun was already up, half-bent, blood spattering onto his chest where the fur vest parted.

“I don’t mind you swiving a few maids, lad, but it would be best if you kept yourself to the ones who weren’t contagious.”

“Aye well…” Cairn sat up slowly. Burr stood toward the end of the carpet Cairn had just rolled off of. “’Tis obvious enough you wouldn’t know an innocent if she bit you in the arse,” he said, and, reaching out, yanked the carpet with all his might.

Burr teetered and toppled, landing hard enough to make the room quake. Cairn leapt to his feet, but by the time he had reached his fallen comrade, the other had already risen.

“What are you saying, boy?” he asked, and rumbled a laugh. “That you think Princess Rags is an innocent?”

Cairn came on, feinting with his right and striking with his left. Burr answered with a swing to his belly. He ducked and caught the blow on his chest. It felt like the kick of a loosed mainsail. But he stumbled back and managed to avoid the next blow.

“She
was
innocent, you harebrained ass.”

Burr laughed. “Innocent my—” he began, then stumbled to a halt and narrowed his eyes. “
Was?”

“Come on then,” Cairn said, and motioned wildly toward the other.

“Was?” Burr repeated.

“Scared of me, old man?” he asked, and motioned again, though he felt a bit queasy.

“Aye, terrified,” Burr said. “You’re lying with her?”

Cairn felt the fight drain out of him like river water downhill. Raising his hand to his brow, he kneaded rhythmically. “No. I’m not.”

“Then how do you know she was innocent?”

Cairn glanced toward the darkened window. Why wasn’t he drunk yet? Or beaten senseless? “I’m not bedding her.”

Burr straightened his mammoth back and narrowed his eyes. “But you did.”

“I didn’t know…” He ground his teeth. “How the hell was I to know she was untried?”

Burr’s scowl deepened. He had no qualms about beating the hell out of most any man who walked the streets, but he had a strict policy against abusing women.

“You might have asked,” he suggested, his voice low.

“You think I didn’t ask?” Cairn said, and swore with dark vehemence before pacing to the window and back. “I asked everything. She lies at every turn.”

“And so you thought she lied about this?”

Cairn said nothing, but winced. “She lied about everything else.” He sounded like a mewling child, even to his own ears.

Burr was silent for a moment. And when he spoke, his words were deep and quiet. “Did you force her?”

Cairn’s ire rose in an instant. And in that moment he was almost tempted to lie, to bring the other’s wrath down on him like hell’s brimstone. But in the end the truth was too vexing.
“Force her,” he said, and shook his head. “Hell, man, I couldn’t stop her.”

Burr’s brows had lowered all the more. He swiped a hairy wrist across his nose. It came away bloody, but he failed to notice. “I thought I taught you better than to boast, lad.”

“Boast!” He barked a laugh. It sounded a bit hysterical. “I couldn’t hold her off. You think I’m proud of that?”

The other’s brows had risen. “I’ve seen some strides in her ability to defend herself. But it seems unlikely that she forced you, boy.”

Cairn shook his head. “I didn’t plan to…She’s so…” He curled his empty hands like claws, trying to find the words. “She hasn’t been touched.”

“You’re that sure she was innocent.”

“Innocent! Aye. Aye.” He shook his head. “She was that, but more. ’Tis as if she’s never been touched in the entirety of her life. Not the simplest caress, not a stroke on her hair. ’Tis as if she’s dying for the need of it. As if she can’t get enough of it, and yet—”

“She’s accepted none other.”

He shook his head.

“So she gave herself to you because you’re the laird.”

Cairn remained silent for a moment, then, “You’ve talked to her, Burr, what do you think?”

“She doesn’t seem to be overwhelmed by your title.”

Cairn snorted a laugh at the understatement.

Burr shrugged, thinking. “I suspect there are those who find you somewhat appealing.”

“You think she lay with me because of my features?”

The Norseman shrugged again. “As I’ve said a dozen times, I think you’re plain as oatmeal, but the lassies sometimes have differing opinions. She may—”

“So she’s aching for attention, and in all her years of men
slavering after her she’s never found a single one to give herself to?”

“You’re sure she was untried?”

Cairn gave him a flat look, and Burroun sighed.

“’Tis a strange thing,” Burr said. “’Tis not as if you can determine the truth when you lie with her again.”

“Again!” Cairn scoffed. “Nay.” He shook his head. “Not again. Not until…” He stopped, but he had already caught Burr’s undivided attention.

“There’s only been the once?”

“It’s none of your concern, Norseman,” Cairn said, and turned away.

“And she’s eager for you?”

MacTavish turned in frustration. The fight had felt better. “She lies,” he said flatly.

Burr’s eyebrows had disappeared completely. “So you’re punishing her by withholding your…favors?”

“Shut the hell up!” Cairn growled, and, grinding his hands to fists, roamed the chamber like a caged mountain cat.

“Is that your plan, lad?”

“She lies,” he repeated, and turned toward Burr. “I don’t know who she is. I don’t know what she—”

But Burr was already laughing.

Cairn ground his teeth. “I’d hate to have to kill you, man.”

“And I’d hate to see you try, lad.” Never had there been more irritating laughter. “’Twould be embarrassing after all me years of training you.” He wiped his eyes. “Are you a complete dolt, MacTavish? How many times do I have to tell you? She’s not Elizabeth.”

“Isn’t she?”

Burr sobered somewhat. “You said yourself she was untried. Elizabeth had more lovers than I have hairs on my arse.”

“Maybe it was a hoax.”

“Her virginity?”

Cairn nodded. If Burr laughed again, Cairn would personally cram the throne down his throat.

“Any idea how she’d manage that, lad?” he asked.

“Not offhand.”

“I think we can assume she was an innocent.”

“Then why did she give herself to me now?”

“Could be she feels the same about you as you do about her.”

The world went silent. Cairn gritted his teeth. “I feel nothing for her.”

Burr grinned. There were few things worse than seeing Burr grin, except to hear him laugh. “’Course not, laddie. You simply decided celibacy was the best course in this case.” He sounded as though he would laugh again. “Cuz you’re not interested anyway, swamped as you are with female companionship. And Princess Rags…she’s not hardly bonny atall. Repulsive, really, if you see her in the right light what with—”

“Shut up, Burr.”

He laughed instead. “Wake up, laddie,” he said, and sobering, thrust his oversized head toward him. “’Tis me you’re talking to, not some scatterbrained nobleman. You say she’s lying, but look at
yourself
.”

“You’re calling
me
a liar?” Cairn said, and drew himself up. Apparently their truncated battle had not gotten the bile out of his system.